When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 47

NEXT DAY

The world moves.

Soft, steady. A quiet symphony of footsteps and murmured conversations, laughter echoing against tiled floors, sunlight spilling through windows in fractured ribbons.

She walks through it all.

Heads up. Steps excited.

She slips into her seat, presses her palms against the cool surface of her desk. The world hums around her, the teacher’s voice a distant drone, the scratching of pens and pencils a constant, rhythmic sound. She listens without really listening. Watches without really watching.

And when the bell rings for lunch, she does what she wants to do right now.

Slowly standing up from her seat, she made moves, put of the class.

She leaves.

Not to the cafeteria, not to the crowded tables and buzzing conversations, not to the clatter of trays and plastic cups and the sharp scent of overcooked food.

She goes to the rooftop.

The door creaks when she pushes it open, the rush of fresh air greeting her like an old friend. The world is different up here—quieter, simpler. The hum of the school fades into the background, swallowed by the gentle rustle of the wind, the soft rustling of leaves in the distance.

And then, slowly, she took out something from her pocket.

Cheonga sits on the floor, her back pressed against the concrete wall, knees drawn up slightly, fingers moving slow and steady over the pages of her notebook.

A butterfly takes form beneath the tip of her pen.

Wings. Thin and fragile. Lines delicate, curving.

It doesn’t feel like a drawing.

It feels like a thought. Like a wish.

Like something alive.

And then—

A voice.

“Do you always spend lunch break here?”

She blinks. Her hand stills.

Doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer.

She already knows who it is.

Minhwan.

There’s always something easy in his voice, something smooth and effortless, like he doesn’t really expect answers, like he isn’t really waiting for one. He moves without hurry, footsteps slow as he walks closer, hands in his pockets, a small, lazy grin on his face, the kind of grin that says he’s never really worried about anything.

Cheonga exhales through her nose.

Goes back to her drawing.

Minhwan takes this as an invitation to sit.

He stretches his legs out, leans back, tilts his head toward the sky like he’s just here to enjoy the view. Like he belongs here. Like this moment was already written in his schedule.

“So, what, you don’t eat lunch?” he asks.

Cheonga doesn’t answer.

He clicks his tongue. “That’s unhealthy, you know.”

Still nothing.

He sighs dramatically, shifting his weight against the wall. “Man. I came up here expecting a fun conversation. Maybe even some lunch recommendations. But nope. Nothing.”